


Shut Up

by cant



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Public Sex, Sex, They are both of age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant/pseuds/cant
Summary: A short dumb thing I wrote for my idiot friend, Daddy Nic





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GardenBodied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GardenBodied/gifts).



Once, twice, three times. Alastair paced the corridor carefully, thinking clearly each time. Somewhere private. 

As he passed for the third time, a smaller hand slipped into his. “You found it?” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, watching the door materialise in the wall with the sound of stone scraping. It looked small. “I thought about somewhere private, so.” 

She laughed, a softer noise than usually came out of her mouth, and squeezed his hand. “Genius. I thought you’d gone to the prefects’ bathroom.” 

Alastair glanced down the hallways, both ways. Clear. “Nah, that Gryffindor prefect was in there and told me to clear off,” he explained, pushing open the doors. 

It was a broom cupboard. After all that, it was a broom cupboard. 

“Um, this is cosy,” Margo muttered, probably not intending him to hear, as they both stared into the room. “Dark. Probably spiders too, ugh.” 

Alastair jumped at the distinct noise from the end of the corridor - Filch’s cat. Shit. 

Without thinking, he shoved Margo in with a squeal and followed her, pressing up against her in the cramped space and letting the door slam shut behind them. They were thrown into warm darkness, with only a gentle orange light coming from somewhere above them. Alastair was suddenly well aware that he was pressed up hard against her, feeling the 

“This is shit,” Margo said, with her cheek pressed up against the wall. With some effort, she turned around, brushing against Alastair in all sorts of ways he didn’t want to explain to her. He let out a short, light sigh, taking an unnecessary step closer to her when she was facing him. “You made me hit my knee.” 

“Shut up,” he hissed, listening carefully for any disturbance outside. She looked up at him defiantly, making him want to smirk at her. He couldn’t hear anything outside, but he wanted to kiss her to make her stop making that dumb face. 

“You’re mean, you-” 

Bonus - it stopped her talking, too. It didn’t take long before the kiss deepened, more a game of give and take as she relaxed into him, tasting like lip gloss and heat. More and more so even as she backed up against the wall, one hand twisting in his hair and the other pulling his hips closer, the breath leaving her in a weak sigh as he pressed against her. Every inch under her skirt that his hand rose got hotter and hotter, closer to making her whine. 

Voices outside. He slapped a hand over her mouth, wondering if they could hear inside the room of requirement once the door was shut - he wouldn’t like to find out this way. She made a small noise, almost a squeak, but when he turned his gaze back to her she stopped and looked up at him, waiting together until the noises left. He could feel her lick his hand. 

The second his hand left her mouth they were kissing again, this time with a new fire. They moved with more purpose, pulling up clothes and pushing away hair until her leg was up past his waist and his hands were gripping her thighs, holding her up to the best of his ability, heat against heat and breath mixing. 

She’d always say something to try and ruin it, maybe out of nervous habit, but he’d found that if he were to just ignore her the moments flew by. She said it again, this time in a higher pitch as he brushed his lips over her neck. He was oddly tempted to bite her. 

“Are you listening?” she squeaked. 

“No,” he breathed, voice coming out lower than he’d meant it to. He was aware of his own breathing, coming out short and harsh and hot, just like hers. “A wee bit. What?” 

She took a shaky deep breath and unhitched her leg from around his waist. “Gotta get undressed, you idiot.” 

“You’re calling me a genius and now I’m an idiot?” he mumbled, watching her in the half-light as she unbuttoned his shirt but somehow left his tie. She untucked his shirt and undid his trousers in something of a rush, sliding her hand under the rim of his boxers in a bold move. 

Alastair was instantly a hundred times more desperate; the only thing running through his mind was how good that felt, and the urge to say so, especially as she decided to run her hand down, and up. She pulled him closer as he pushed his fingers down lace - lace? “Lace, aye?” he murmured. “How’d you feel wearing that in charms?” 

“Shut up,” she hissed, kicking them off somewhere and grabbing his tie, pulling him back down into a kiss. The moment his fingers brushed soft, moist skin, she hesitated against his lips, and that hesitation turned into a stuttering breath that almost took his away when he moved further in, past muscle, pushing and curling upwards to pull her closer. 

She whined again, and he had to kiss her harder to shut her up. Brief, terrifying images flashed through his mind of what they would do if they were caught. Argue? They’d be expelled (in his case, again) for sure. She’d blame him, the idiot. 

The images melted from his mind like smoke as she stroked him harder, as though trying to tell him something. Before he knew it, he was barely focussing on her, leaning into her neck and letting his breath come out harsh. 

She stopped just as suddenly, letting him come back down before she hitched her legs around his waist again. He held her up with an almost harsh grip on her thighs. 

Gradually, slowly, she sunk towards him, her lips opening with a long, shaking sigh. “Don’t drop me,” she said, like he needed reminding, holding tightly to his shoulders with both arms around his neck. “I’ll kill you.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t help smiling; holding on tight to her thighs, he moved back, and with a gentle sigh he pushed back again. Over and over, he built a rhythm until they were breathing together and their gasps mixed in the hot air. It was stifling, their remaining clothes clinging to them, but her gasps got gradually mingled with moans, and his with low groans. She was quieter than him, to her credit, a role-reversal which had her breathing into his ear and him moaning her name into hers. 

Every time he did, she melted a little more, and with every word and curse that oozed from his lips she grew a little softer. Her lips brushed his neck, her hands twisting in his hair - he let out an embarrassing long, low groan which made her chuckle breathlessly but melt inside, and so he in turn murmured a gentle laugh. Sweat held his hair to his forehead, her cardigan He wanted to push her harder, to go deeper and to hold her there to see what would happen, but he couldn’t. The momentum was too much, carrying them, keening and breathing, to a desperate, moaning climax. 

She was gripping his hair hard, her arms wrapped around him, and she only let go when he lifted her a fraction. Even though he wanted her to let go and give him some room for a second, she held onto his neck and buried her face into his chest. 

They stayed, breathing and whispering little words to each other, for a while. It was hard to tell how long, but it was definitely beyond curfew. It was worth it. 

Alastair pushed back sweat-matted hair from his face. “We- we can do this tomorrow? Or...” 

“Maybe,” she breathed, looking up at him with glassy, dilated eyes. “Charms is pretty boring.” 

“Any excuse, huh?” 

“Shut up.”


End file.
